


If I show you all my demons and we dive into the deep end, would we crash and burn like every time before?

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boxing, Coda, Episode: s15e10 The Heroes’ Journey, Fluff, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Normal Life, Post-Episode: s15e10 The Heroes’ Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: Cas bats his lashes primly at Dean.  “Nothing has ever stopped either of you.  Why is being normal so horrible for you?”Dean ducks his head.  His tan cheeks turn pink in embarrassment.And perhaps something more.“Cas is right,” Sam finds himself saying, “we can figure this out without going to Alaska.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Season 15 Codas [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517966
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	If I show you all my demons and we dive into the deep end, would we crash and burn like every time before?

**Author's Note:**

> My last coda got 1100 hits overnight. Thank you all so much! I’m always happy to contribute more fluff!
> 
> The title was taken from the song “Vulnerable” by Selena Gomez.

Sam enters the room to find Dean laying on the couch watching Dr. Sexy. He wears his gray robe and hot dog pajama pants, head smashed into the couch pillow. His face is drawn into a grumpy pout as his gaze simmers at the screen.

“Uhhh,” Sam says, “aren’t we going to Alaska today?”

Dean makes a grumbling noise, gaze affixed to the glaring television. “I woke up with lower back pain, I can barely move, I slipped in the shower and bruised my elbow. I’m done for the day, man. I give the fuck up.”

As Sam advances towards the couch, his socked feet catch on an upended corner of the rug and trips. He barely catches himself.

Has he always been this...oafish?

Dean’s eyes skid across Sam. “See? We’re clumsier than yesterday.”

“By that argument,” Sam says pointedly, advancing so he stands in front of the television, “we’ll get worse every day until we can barely get up out of bed without breaking a bone.”

“That’s Chuck’s plan,” Dean says, eyes burning into Sam for interrupting his soap opera, “to make us like Samuel L. Jackson in Unbreakable. Shatter bones just by twisting our wrist the wrong way. Get Shyamalan’ed to death.”

“You said it yourself,” Sam crosses his arms, “that’s not what Chuck wants. He wants a show. A Cain and Abel rewrite.”

Dean scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll fucking get up.”

As his arm reaches the remote and clicks off the television, the bunker door screeches open.

Dean scrambles out of the couch as if being fire-branded in the back, robe strangling his arms as he adjusts to stand. 

He is rushing, then, and Sam follows. They exit the sitting room and down the hallway. The winding staircase is in front of them, and Castiel reaches the ground level.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, covering his tattered sleep shirt with the robe and rolling back his shoulders, “hey.”

Sam studies Dean’s back, how he stands with every ounce of attention directed towards a weary Cas. The trenchcoated angel turns to face Dean as they stand mere inches apart. 

Electric eyes flicker up to Dean in confusion. “Is something wrong, Dean? Is it Chuck?”

Sam advances into the scene, a spectator at the archway. In the shadows, but still visible by Cas.

“Uh,” Dean sighs, “yes and no.”

Cas’s brows pinch together in concern.

“Um,” Dean blurts, “he wasn’t here, not physically. Just, um…”

Nerves overtake Dean, and Cas waits. Sam does not miss his older brother turning away slightly. He catches Dean’s profile worrying his lip. 

And he catches Cas staring at Dean’s mouth.

Dean inhales sharply through his nose, and he directs his full attention back to Cas. “It’s been a terrible day. Just...a terrible day.”

As Dean sinks, shoulders drooping when he cannot find the words, Sam steps closer.

“Chuck is making us normal,” Sam cuts in, garnering Cas’s perplexed stare, “so we’re having serious bad luck.”

“A godly curse,” Cas hums, “how interesting.”

“Our only chance is to go to Alaska,” Sam says, “because Garth knows a guy who might be able to help.”

“Alaska,” Cas says suspiciously.

“Yes,” Sam shrugs, “it’s weird, we know. And since,” he shoots Dean a look, “he’s afraid of planes, we have to drive. We meant to start out today.”

“But?” Cas prompts.

“We’re walking joker cards,” Dean says gruffly, Cas’s gaze softening in his direction, “Sammy can barely walk ten feet without tripping, and for me, everything goddamn aches.”

Cas bats his lashes primly at Dean. “Nothing has ever stopped either of you. Why is being normal so horrible for you?”

Dean ducks his head. His tan cheeks turn pink in embarrassment.

And perhaps something more.

“Cas is right,” Sam finds himself saying, “we can figure this out without going to Alaska.”

That gets Dean and Cas to tear their gazes from each other and study Sam. Dean with apprehension, Cas with pride.

“If I can do it,” Cas says, “you can do it too.”

The reminder crushes Sam like an anvil. Cas has done this before. He has been human. He did everything on his own for months.

Cas is more capable than Dean and Sam combined right now.

Whereas Sam nods curtly, Dean’s eyes mist over, consumed by a layer of glass.

“You,” Dean murmurs, “you did do it. How?”

Cas reads their eagerness, takes a great pause, and says, “I’ll teach you.”

————

“Now when the spark plug or the engine cuts, you leave the wires under your wheel exposed to hotwire it,” Cas says. 

Dean blinks at Cas as he retreats from the Impala, rising to his full height. 

He is very...compromised.

-

When it comes to cooking, Cas says, “you have to watch the pot the entire time. You don’t want to blow up the kitchen, do you?”

Dean shakes his head dumbly. It has never happened before. He managed to feed Sam all his life, but anything can happen now.

The kitchen isn’t the only thing that can explode. His heart can. His heart is. But in a...semi-good way. Yes.

-

“This,” Cas lays down a plastic mat with suction cups in the shower, “will prevent you from slipping again. Press down the suction cups on the shower floor.”

He steps back. Dean kneels, because bending over hurts. His hands press against the mat and he hears the suction cups stay in place.

As Dean rises, Cas instructs, “after you take a shower, wash the mat and hang the suction cups against the shower wall. It needs to dry before you place it down the next day.”

Dean bobs his head, feeling like a useless child. But he is growing used to the idea that he knows very little about caring for himself.

Does Cas care for him...as more than a best friend? Dean wishes he knows the answer.

-

“You ate seven grilled cheese sandwiches, yes?” Cas prompts as he stands over the stove.

“Yes,” Dean says, curling into his seat at the table, flushed in embarrassment.

Cas flips over his own concoction, a sandwich that was more bread than grilled cheese. It sizzles, causing Dean’s mouth to water inside.

“How about you try this one with less cheese,” Cas says, focusing on his task. “You need to know your own limits with lactose intolerance. It varies in degrees.”

“How’s that?” Dean’s brows furrow. He studies the trench coat defining Cas’s shoulders, the tufts of raven hair curling behind Cas’s neck. 

He still does not look back, though he knows full well how Dean stares.

“Well,” Cas says measuredly, “lactose intolerants can vary from being completely unable to consume any dairy products,” he lifts a spatula to press the sandwich down on the stove with a calculated touch, “to being able to eat dairy foods with only moderate gastrointestinal problems.”

“Wow,” Deans says hollowly, “neither of those sound very sexy to me, Cas.”

He realizes what he just said, and claps a hand over his mouth. His wide eyes bug out of his head.

Cas does not react. He merely slides the spatula underneath the sandwich and flips it onto a paper plate.

The sandwich is brought to the table, Cas’s expression utterly inscrutable. “Here,” he says, “try that.”

Dean gratefully picks up the grilled cheese. It is the best he has ever had.

Maybe lactose intolerance didn’t have to be a curse...not with Cas there to monitor him.

-

“Punch it.”

“No.”

“Punch the bag.”

“This is ridiculous, Cas.”

Cas purses his lips. It is the first time Dean has seen him sans trench coat in a very long while. Hell, it’s the first time he’s seen Cas in only a tee and sweatpants.

And his arms...they must be so strong…

Cas leans against the punching bag, arms crossed, muscles well-defined against his chest. His head cocks to the side critically, eyes burning into him in the way only Cas can manage, a way that demeans as well as emboldens Dean when the time calls for tough criticism.

“Boxing builds muscle,” Cas says, “monster men like the one you fought practice punching a bag just like this one every day. For a human, boxing is one of the easiest ways to strengthen muscles quickly. Do you want to face Chuck like this? Do you want to get pummeled with a single punch from that,” Cas snarls, “that cowardly wimp?”

Dean whistles. “Alright, Cas. I’ll punch the bag.”

Cas has such passion...Dean quite likes it.

-

“You taught Sam how to walk in heels, huh?” Dean sorts as he dodges a punch, crouching and side swiping. 

The swipe is blocked by Cas’s boxing gloves. He has hardly broken a sweat since their sparring session began, but his hair sticks up in all directions from his quick movements.

“I had a friend at the Gas ‘N Sip,” Cas says, “who said you don’t know how to balance yourself until you’ve mastered the high heel.”

Dean dodges Cas’s jab, forming a barrier at his side with his boxing gloves. “Does that mean I missed the mighty Castiel walking around in high heels?”

Cas swipes at Dean’s head instead of answering. Dean ducks, jumping back a step. He regains his composure and sweeps low. Cas hops over his arm like a whack-a-mole. 

He lands on the mat fluidly, exhaling calmly and holding up his boxing gloves. 

“That was an illegal move,” Cas says pointedly. His eyes, though, dance with mischief. “I suppose I’ll have to allow it, as monster fights don’t have rules.”

Dean raises his own boxing gloves, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, you’re making Sam happy. He’s been out of it since Eileen left, and...well, I was worried about him for a minute there.”

Cas begins to circle him like a panther eyeing prey. Dean does the same, making the most of the mat space.

“Is that a thank you?” Cas parses critically. “I didn’t hear the words.”

Dean’s smile widens amusedly. “Thank you for helping Sammy and me. It means,” his tone grows serious, “a whole lot to both of us.”

“While you were quite pitiful when I found you,” Cas says slyly, “I’m glad you’ve dedicated yourselves to improving.”

Before Dean could reply, Cas advances in a single breath. Dean is bowled over, losing his balance and crashing onto the mat.

He coughs, and Cas is crashed atop Dean.

Cas is on top of him!

Dean’s wide eyes affix to Cas; the angel is lying against him, palms splayed to push up his elbows on either side of Dean’s face.

Dean laughs, and Cas’s face becomes visible three inches above his own.

Cas is flushed pink, and his eyes avoid Dean’s.

“Maybe you need to learn how to walk too,” Cas mumbles, trying to scramble away from Dean.

But Dean, due to an unnameable instinct in his brain, hooks his leg over Cas’s lower back to hold him in place.

He barely registers he is doing it. Not until Cas’s eyes dart up to meet his, brows furrowing with ferocity.

“That’s not funny, Dean,” Cas says gruffly, “you won this round. Let me up.”

Now that Dean is here, here in this sacred space with Cas, he sees his chance. It is a chance he has always been afraid to take, ever since they had met over a decade ago.

Dean’s resolve bolsters, and he stares directly into Cas’s blazing eyes. “No,” he says, “there’s nothing funny about it.”

Cas’s palms form into fists on the mat, but he stays. Their gazes hold.

“Nothing funny,” Dean says, “about how terribly I’ve treated you in the past. Nothing funny about Chuck, nothing funny about monsters coming back from the grave to torment us, nothing funny about this curse that’s been placed on us.”

He breathes, and Cas doesn’t.

“And there’s nothing funny,” Dean murmurs, gaze flickering to Cas’s plush lips, “about the way I feel about you, about the way I’ve always felt about you.”

Cas breathes shallowly, eyes darting across Dean’s face. Dean lets the words absorb for him, because he knows how Cas feels: as if his feelings, this entire time, have not been reciprocated. 

Dean has known Cas loves him for a long time. Cas said it himself, when he was bleeding out on the floor of a warehouse years ago.

It is about time Dean returns the favor, and then some.

Cas suddenly lowers his arms, shifting to sink into Dean’s body. Dean’s leg holds him there, and he catches the edge of Cas’s smile as he tilts his head to be level.

Cas’s lips are Heaven when they touch Dean’s. They are the night Dean shot off fireworks with Sam when they were teenagers. They are Dean’s last birthday party before his mother died. They are an entire plate of greasy bacon, a cherry pie slice dribbling down his chin with excess juice, a meaty cheeseburger with crunchy fries on the side.

Dean’s everything coils around Cas’s everything, and he is nothing but a hunter who loves an angel. It is an angel he cannot afford, but he will save up as much as possible for another taste, another transaction, another chance to feel like this again, and again, and again.

Dean finds his heart cranked open with iron jaws, exposing him to Cas willingly.

And soon, so soon, Cas’s mouth slips away from his, and Dean breathes shakily.

Cas’s eyes spark with power when Dean sees them, his cheeks tinged red, his plush lips swollen.

Parched, Cas says, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Dean smiles. “How was it for you?”

Cas blinks. “Better than I thought it would be.”

“Good,” Dean is so open and vulnerable as he asks dazedly, “would you please do that again?”

Cas smirks, and his lips do the talking.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
